Scarlet Metal
by Neko-The-Wolf
Summary: Feliciano sneaks into Francis' house, looking for comfort, but ends up finding out something he didn't want to know. M for violence. Human names used.


It was a dark, starless night. A distant-looking Feliciano sat with his legs crossed on a large, flamboyantly-colored bed, staring at the violet colored walls blankly. Thoughts were rushing through his mind faster than they ever had before. He was afraid. He was alone.

_Where is Ludwig? Where's Francis? Will he be home soon? Will he be able to help me?_

His eye twitched involuntarily as the anxiety coursed through his bloodstream, his fingers tapping absently on his knee.

_Where were they? Where? Where?_

The boy was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as there was the sound of a door opening up and closing tightly with a click. Francis must be home!

Stopping his rapid hand movements, Feliciano leapt off the bed, uncaring of messing it up, and started walking down the hallway happily. As he neared the open entrance into the kitchen, his smile faltered and he stopped in his place. Will big brother be mad at me? He wondered. He had, after all, broken into the man's house. How would he explain that? So Feliciano just settled down on the ground by the entrance, curling his knees up to his chest.

The French man was now in the kitchen, darting around as he grabbed ingredients and utensils to begin cooking dinner for himself. While he did this, however, he began talking to himself. "Today was just so much fun!" He chuckled to no one, clicking a button to turn on one of the stove burners as he set a pot on it. He hummed quietly, a smile on his face and his blue eyes sparkling.

Why was he so happy? Feliciano wondered. But he continued to stay quiet, hoping for the man to continue his chatter. And, to the Italian's luck, he did.

"I can't believe that feisty nation was able to resist me for so long!" He exclaimed as he put something into the pot. "Of course, no one can resist moi for too long.~"

As he continued to listen to Francis, Feliciano became more and more confused. "Who?" He blurted out, biting his tongue right afterwards. He had blown his cover! But the blonde in the kitchen paid no attention to the odd outburst. He was probably drunk, and believed it to be a voice speaking to him in his mind.

"Ludwig, of course! You knew he'd come to his senses soon, didn't you?"

Feliciano was taken aback, and his eyes widened. What did he just say? Ludwig? And Francis?

_This can't be! It just can't!_

"Of course you knew, silly French man," Francis giggled childishly to himself, stirring around the contents of the pot on the stove.

Feliciano couldn't stand for this. He rose up from his seat on the ground, entering the kitchen with a big, fake smile plastered to his face. "Hey there, big brother!" He greeted, sounding as cheery as he could. Francis looked up from his cooking, smiling at the younger nation with a glint of confusion in his eyes. "Hello there, Feliciano!~ How are you?" He asked. The Italian walked over to the blonde's side, looking into the pot as he cooked. "I'm just fine! Just wanted to visit you!" He replied. He continued to stare into the pot, as if the food were calling his name. And it actually was.

_"Italy~" It sang. "You know you have to kill him, right?"_

The Italian glanced cautiously at Francis, waiting for a reaction from the hideous words, but he said nothing, as if he hadn't heard it. Then, he realized his big brother couldn't hear it. Because it was in his head.

Trying to forget the malicious voice, he turned around, sitting in a nearby wooden chair. "S-so how was your day?"

"Well, my day was simply _fabulous_!" Francis replied happily.

_"Kill him~…"_

"First, I went out and saw a movie with one of my dearest friends, and then we went to the park, then out for dinner, and then of course back to his place," Francis blabbered.

_"You know you want to~….."_

"Anyways, how was your day, Feliciano?"

The Italian couldn't hear him, couldn't respond. He just stayed silent, his fingers tapping on the arm of the chair.

_"Kill him! He stole your Ludwig!"_

Not receiving a reply, Francis abandoned the steaming pot and walked over to the boy. "Feliciano?" He asked, concern filling his voice as he knelt down to look him in the eyes.

_"Kill him NOW!"_

Francis put his hands on the Italian's shoulders…..

And he finally snapped.

Feliciano leapt up from his seat, fresh tears streaming down his face. Francis was knocked to the floor by this sudden action. "Feliciano, what's wrong cheri?"

"Don't talk to me!" The boy screamed. "You stole Ludwig from me! He was mine!" There was a slight growl as he said the words, and Francis was shocked. "I-I'm sorry, I had no idea…."

Feliciano stumbled backwards, his hand lightly knocking against the pot on the stove, the bubbling liquid inside splashing onto the counter. And then he noticed the spoon.

_"Do it.~"_

A creepy smile crept over the Italian's lips as he reached for the steaming metal utensil. It burned his hand as he gripped it, but he didn't mind it.

"You have to pay, big brother.~"

He walked over the where the French man was still on the ground, kneeling down and pinning him to the floor with surprising strength. Realizing what he was doing, Francis began to writhe under the boy, fear in his eyes as he attempted to escape, but his attempts failed.

_"Do it!"_

Feliciano slid the burning spoon across the older man's face, leaving a red mark in it's trail along the skin.

Francis closed his eyes, clenching his teeth as he tried to contain the screams of pain that welled in his chest. The hot metal stopped right beside his closed eyelid, lingering there before the Italian finally spoke. "Now, you won't be able to ever see Ludwig again," he giggled menacingly. Parting the eyelids with his fingers, he slid the metal down into the skin.

There was a scream, scarlet pooling onto the floor as crazy, uncontrollable laughter buzzed throughout the room: a laugh of sickeningly twisted joy.

_He took Ludwig._

_He deserved the pain._

Now, the Italian sat in a small ,padded white room on a low mattress. His arms were crossed over his chest, forced there by a jacket that was the same color as the walls, with many latches and buttons across the back of it. He remembered the pure joy he got from his revenge. The pain that seeped out of the man in a puddle of scarlet was exactly what he had deserved. He laughed quietly to himself as he remembered it. Besides, it's not like he did anything wrong to the man.

If he had done something wrong, then why would he be in this beautiful white room?


End file.
